Adventure, Adversity, and Way Too Much Ale
by elminster
Summary: Chapter 4 is up! A group of adventurers wakes up after a hard night of drinking, to find that something isn't right about the day. Rated 13 for language & alcohol. R/R please!
1. The Hangover from the Nine Hells

Disclaimer: The Forgotten Realms shared world is owned by Wizards of the Coast, as are several minor characters in this story. The major characters, however, belong to me and my D&D group.  
  
Adventure, Adversity, and Way Too Much Ale.  
  
The Hangover from the Nine Hells  
  
The pain was terrible.  
  
The pain in his head, that is.  
  
Neltharion Stormraven was sitting awake in bed, wishing that self- immolating spells had been a part of his wizardly studies. The elven mage was just not used to imbibing large quantities of dwarven ale, and the hangover showed him just how true that fact was.  
  
He dimly remembered sitting down with his companions for a drink, and then being very happy. He also recalled some singing. Very bad singing. It may have been his own, but he wasn't sure.  
  
He heard a rough voice coming from the bed next to him, and by the tone of that voice (he still wasn't fully awake) the oaths spouting from that mouth were rougher still.  
  
The mage looked over to see one of his companions, the dwarf Rootnik Weathersprout, sitting up in bed, muttering every known curse in the dwarven tongue, and even some that weren't so well known. Rootnik was muttering about inept innkeepers, dirty mugs, and poisoned ale. Also, the innkeeper's genealogy was described in fascinating ways. The man's ancestors all seemed to be combinations of various disgusting species, each with a number of startling diseases.  
  
While the dwarf went on cursing, a groan arose from yet another bed in the room (their last adventure hadn't exactly been what one would call lucrative). Gerwulf Ironheart, the Mystran priest, had just gotten his first taste of hangover. "Mystra's dark wand," the cleric cursed, "that was some drink."  
  
"I wish I could help," replied Stormraven, " but that drink's erased every spell from my mind, including the one for quick sobering."  
  
"Mists of Leira!"  
  
Tabitha Starshadow, the roguish one of the bunch, had woken.  
  
"I've already told Gerwulf that I can't help him," said the mage, "so don't even ask.  
  
"Damn!" said the thief. She did not enjoy hangovers, even though she had them rather often for an elf.  
  
This was going to be a long, long day. 


	2. Surprises at the Harpooned Duck Inn

Disclaimer: The Forgotten Realms shared world is owned by Wizards of the Coast, as are several minor characters in this story. The major characters, however, belong to me and my D&D group.  
  
Surprises at the Harpooned Duck Inn  
  
After Neltharion took an hour to study his spells (using a few of them to sober everyone up), the companions went downstairs to eat, with a few occasional groans (wizards have developed many a spell, but not yet one to alleviate morning grumpiness).  
  
After breakfast (during which Rootnik ate half his own weight in meat, and drank the other half in ale), the four adventurers had to wait around for Gerwulf to finish his morning rituals to Mystra, Lady of Magic. After the long and deeply boring chanting, filled with phrases like "Lady of Mysteries, show me the secrets of the Magic Weave," and "Grant me the knowledge of mighty magicks and the prudence to know when to use them," the group finally got out of the Harpooned Duck Inn, the lowest, most filthy waterfront dive in the entire city of Waterdeep.  
  
Surprisingly, no young hotshot magelings emerged to challenge Neltharion. Similarly, no over-devout prayer-mumbling Mystran monk emerged from the local temple, saying to Gerwulf "I'm more pious than you and I'll prove it by smashing your feeble defenses with magic and leaving your bloodied corpse on the streets for all to see as my tribute to our loving, compassionate deity." All in all, it was a rather unusual morning for the four adventurers, who were used to being challenged by overbearing egotists, battling ancient evils twice a month, slaying dragons, collecting treasure, and (horrors!) staying at inns with bad rooms, worse meat, and cheap beer.  
  
"By Mystra's seven secret spells, I've not had a five minutes so peaceful as this in almost three months," observed the priest. "I do believe that the Lady of Mysteries has finally granted us the peace and quiet we so deserve for our generous contributions to her glorious and noble church."  
  
"Speak fer yerself," grumbled the dwarf. "The rest of us feel yer so- called devotion where it hurts most: right in the purse!"  
  
"Agreed," said the mage. "I haven't been able to buy enough gemstones and glass rods to keep up with the number of storm-spells I've been conjuring while we run from some great beast with just enough money to cover Gerwulf's tithes and your bar tab.  
  
Tabitha didn't speak up. She hadn't been suffering at all, mostly because she had been picking a few pockets after each adventure. Oh, she hadn't picked her friends' pockets, of course. No, the elven thief concentrated her wealth-redistribution efforts on petty merchants, pompous nobles, and the occasional greasy-haired innkeeper who watered down his beer (neither the thief nor the dwarf could abide the thought of cheap beer).  
  
Then the morning got more normal. Tabitha picked a few more pockets, Rootnik displayed his incredible fighting prowess (for cash, of course), Neltharion went shopping for spell components with Rootnik and Tabitha's earnings (defeating a young upstart in a duel of magic along the way), and Gerwulf made his monthly report to the Mystran patriarch.  
  
Something still wasn't right.  
  
Neltharion was the one to observe it first. "I haven't been so bored since the day Tabitha insisted on using the entire afternoon to pick pockets at the nobles' parade."  
  
Something had to be done, and soon. 


	3. The Solution

Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed this fic. It's my first, so I feel rather proud that my first story got some good reviews. Don't worry, more fun is ahead for our oh-so-not-stereotypical group in the forthcoming chapters. Now, on with the show!  
  
The Solution  
  
"But what by Clanggedon's axe are ye sayin'?"  
  
Rootnik was rather confused by Neltharion's proposal.  
  
"I'm saying that we need to advertise. Do you think that the Knights of Myth Drannor got anywhere by sitting around on their fat hind parts and praying for Tymora's fortune to deliver them jobs? No, they went out and looked for work," the mage said. "I mean, we've plundered a few dragon hordes, defeated patrols of drow, and banished demons back to the Lower Planes, but have we really done anything of real significance to the whole Realms? Look at that famous hiresword, Alias. She banished the dark god Moander back to the stinking Abyss! A god, you thick-skulled bearded gnome!"  
  
"There's no need for ye to be gettin' insulting," pouted the warrior.  
  
"Anyway," the cleric interjected, "how are we going to actually *find* advertising space?"  
  
"Already taken care of," replied the wizard. "I've developed a spell that will locate primo ad space in no time."  
  
He began chanting, summoning power from the mystic force known as Mystra's Weave. It was the force which provided the power for magical spells. Spellcasters drew power from the Weave and used their words, gestures, and materials to shape that energy to their whims. The energies which Neltharion was shaping at this moment were not particularly powerful, so he was able to control them without any trouble at all. In a few moments, he was done.  
  
"The space we want is.that way!" he said, pointing.  
  
"How are we supposed to find it with possibly several buildings in the way?" grumbled Tabitha. "We could be running into solid stone for several miles until we find this so-called 'primo advertising space', o wise and all-knowing one."  
  
"Shut yer face," Rootnik retorted. "If the mage says it's thataway, I'll follow him.  
  
"Let's go," said the mage.  
  
The group ran through the hallways, with many a fierce oath shouted at them as they passed the other rooms. Rootnik paused to order ten mugs of ale on the way down, but otherwise there were no problems. Finally, they arrived at.  
  
"A stinkin' barn?" questioned the dwarf.  
  
"It's perfect!" said the mage. "We can post our magical advertisement here, and we'll have callers on the mirror in no time." He began chanting again, and the mystic symbols he drew on the barn formed themselves into letters reading 'Need a psychotic band of adventurers who'll risk their lives and very souls for some cold hard cash and ale? Then call 555-5555 on the Magic Mirror Network. Ask for Neltharion.'  
  
"Well, well, well, what have we here?"  
  
Author's note: Yeah, I know it's a cliché, but I couldn't resist making my readers squirm until the next chapter. I know I'm crueler than a sadistic drow, but it's rather fun, so deal with it. 


	4. Old and sarcastic Rivals

Author's Note: Sorry about the wait. I've been busy with schoolwork & stuff. I'll be posting more often now. And now, the glorious unveiling of our new character and the relieving of your suspense! Old (and sarcastic) Rival(s)  
  
It was a man. Or at least, it appeared to be. One never could tell.  
  
"Don't you recognize me, you fools?" said the stranger.  
  
"No. Should we?" asked the mage.  
  
"I'm the deranged diablolist who used to hound you back at the mage academy, elf. I used to lick your boots and practically beg for a glance from you. I can't believe what a pathetic dog I was. Then, it happened."  
  
"What happened?" queried the dwarf.  
  
"Don't interrupt me while I'm telling a tale of awakening! It's my duty as the 'fanboy-gone-psychotic-and-returned-to-haunt-my-idol' villain to tell you my personal history in soul-crunching detail! Now, back to the story. I was working on an experiment in the lab, trying to duplicate my idol Neltharion's experiments with on-the-fly item creation, when the experiment went horribly wrong. I was infused with greater magical power, and I became.Wizardman!"  
  
"Do you realize how indescribably corny that is?!" Tabitha exclaimed. "You just invoked the most overused stereotype for a villain in the world of fantasy/superhero gaming! If you're going to be a villain in this adventure, at least pick an evil name. I mean, what the hell kind of a name is Wizardman? Go away, and don't bother to come back until you've picked a decent name for yourself. Also, get rid of the 'freakish lab accident' drill. That's something only a twisted madman like Stan Lee would use in a modern story."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really," said the elf.  
  
The man(?) walked away without another word, and the rest of the group was gaping at Tabitha.  
  
"What were ye thinkin', girl? Fer all ye knew, he coulda been a disguised dragon!"  
  
"Puh-lease. With that kind of personality, he was either the villain I think he was or an actor who just got turned down for the X-men sequel."  
  
Author's Note: Yes, I've started using anachronisms in my fics. I can't resist spicing it up with a bit of modern humor. It's my fic, and I'll do what I want with it. My Realms, my rules. 


End file.
